


make your slits look just right

by Mongo00



Series: holding on (to life) [6]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 12:50:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13481847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mongo00/pseuds/Mongo00
Summary: Tyler’s clean streak would falter for weeks as he keeps fighting the urge and giving in. He’s working on staying clean, but it’s a lot harder than anyone could ever imagine.





	make your slits look just right

It had been one hour before Tyler had cut. He was drawing on his arm with a sharpie while his diffuser emits eucalyptus spearmint in the background.

It had been 30 minutes before Tyler had cut. Tyler had been clean for a week. He was proud of himself, but knew that the streak would end soon; he couldn’t fight his head anymore. He has tried everything that his therapist told him to, but he still wanted to cut.

It had been five minutes before Tyler had cut. He decided to cut on his hips instead of his arm because his arm was painfully obvious to the public the last time he cut. 

It had been 10 minutes since Tyler had cut. The slits were bright red, and Tyler sat there frozen. It felt good; the release felt good, but Tyler hated the things that would follow. 

It had been one hour since Tyler had cut. He drew a bath, and winced as his cuts touched the hot water.

It had been three hours since Tyler had cut. Tyler was disappointed in himself that he cut again. Curled up in bed, the cuts painfully rubbed against his clothes.

It had been 11 hours since Tyler had cut. He woke up, got dressed for school, and made sure that no one would be able to see his fresh slits. 

It had been one day since Tyler had cut. Tyler was ashamed of cutting again, but he couldn’t help it; he needed the release. He went the whole day hyper-aware of his surroundings; ensuring that no one could see his new cuts, or his old scars. 

It has been two days since Tyler had cut. The scabs have formed, and the skin is still red. The cuts are still swollen and sensitive as they rub against his bracelets and hoodie.

It had been three days since Tyler had cut. He felt numb, looking at the cuts with no emotion. 

It has been four days since Tyler had cut. The scabs began to itch, and Tyler ended up peeling off both scabs, making them bleed.

It has been five days since Tyler had cut. The new scabs were healing, but Tyler couldn’t help but to pick at them; the cuts bleed once again.

It has been six days since Tyler had cut. He could finally see the new skin forming below the scabs. He was itching to cut once again, but held off. It was Sunday. Sunday was the day where Tyler felt the worst, but Monday were the days where he cut because he would have the energy that he didn’t have on Sunday. Sunday’s were the days where Tyler would lay awake for hours on end staring at his ceiling at night. 

It had been seven days since Tyler had cut. Monday was a drag, going back to school was never fun. When he got home, he eyed the pencil that he cut with cautiously. Tyler wanted to stay clean. Tyler didn’t want to cut, and was able to hold off for this day. 

It had been eight days since Tyler had cut. The cuts were finally healing, and Tyler had the itch to cut again. He was over a week clean, and silently celebrated with himself. It was a small, but powerful and /hard/ accomplishment that no one else would understand. Staying clean was one of the hardest things Tyler had tried to do, and no one understood that. ‘Just don’t cut’ they say; it’s a lot easier said than done.‘Why are you celebrating?’ they ask. ‘You’re supposed to stay clean’ they say. Tyler celebrated because it was fucking hard to stay clean, and he was proud of himself. It’s even harder to stay clean when no one else says that they’re proud of you, or acknowledges your strength, but Tyler was used to it. No one else would understand. 

It had been nine days since Tyler had cut. All he could think about was the next chance he’d be able to cut. Cutting was a release for Tyler. It was his yoga, his exercise, his comfort food—his stress relief. Tyler needed the release, and no one understood that. 

It had been ten days since Tyler had cut. This day—day ten—was the day he gave in. Ten days was his longest streak so far, but he couldn’t fight it anymore. He made two new cuts next to the ten day old ones. 

Tyler’s clean streak would falter for weeks as he keeps fighting the urge and giving in. He’s working on staying clean, but it’s a lot harder than anyone could ever imagine. So much pain, mentally and physically, went into cutting. Tyler didn’t want to cut; he wanted the release. He tried to stay clean; he tried everything that was suggested to him, but nothing was the same as cutting. Nothing would ever be the same as cutting, but nothing would ever hurt (mentally) as much as cutting. The guilt constantly carried around, the fear of having the cuts seen, the never ending battle to stay clean. It was a lot harder than anyone could ever imagine.


End file.
